


Traditions

by not_thepresident



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Funny) Misunderstandings, F/M, First-ish Dates, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, The honeymoon phase, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_thepresident/pseuds/not_thepresident
Summary: Hermione narrowed her eyes, her lips curving upward, only to freeze entirely when he placed a small, black box at the center of the table. Her smile faded entirely, the small chatter around them completely gone, replaced by the rushing of blood straight to her head.What in the name of God was that?(or, Draco Malfoy presents a gift and a small bit of hilarity ensues)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 214





	Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by part 3 of @elithien and @senlinyu collabs, "Seeker Fit." definitely recommend if you haven't read! I just couldn't get the idea of misunderstood traditions out of my head. enjoy!

“Ginny!”

Hermione peered down the darkened hallway, her fingers fiddling nervously in front of her chest.

“Come here!”

There was no reply. Hermione gritted her teeth and stalked toward the doorway, her bare feet pounding against the carpet. That girl had to be in the living room; she could see the light spilling through at the end of the corridor. The living room was in perfect hearing distance from her bedroom as well, which meant that Ginny was simply ignoring her, and Hermione did not have the time to be ignored.

“ _Ginverva_!”

A loud groan split down the hallway. “ _What_?”

“I need a second opinion!”

The house was silent for a moment, and then there was a loud thump, followed by a quick patter of footsteps. Unmistakably Ginny: there wasn’t anyone that walked louder than her.

“I’ve already _given_ you my opinion, and that was to wear—”

Ginny stopped in her tracks as she entered the hallway, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening like saucers. Hermione tried to put on a brave face; she felt entirely exposed just standing in the doorway like this, as Ginny gaped at her like she was some sort of exhibit.

“Fuck yes,” Ginny finally said, pointing at her as she walked into the bedroom. “You’re wearing it.”

“I don’t know…”

“You look hot! Merlin, get the shoes on already!”

Hermione dropped her head, her shoulders sagging. So much for expecting a different response. She slowly walked back to the mirror and stepped into the pale, beige heels, wobbling slightly as she stepped back and examined herself from head to toe.

“Fuck yes!” Ginny shouted, pointing at her again. “You’re wearing it!”

Hermione clenched her jaw, staring into the mirror. She was unconvinced.

“What’s the matter with it?” Ginny demanded. She stalked over, appearing next to her in the mirror, still somehow towering over Hermione even with her heels.

“You don’t think it’s too…” Hermione fingered at the satin lightly, watching as the material slid in waves over her, “…green?”

Ginny scoffed, waving her hand dismissively toward the mirror. “Nonsense. It’s the perfect color. Not only does it completely go well with you, but it’ll knock his socks off.”

“Why do you say that?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as her hands shot out and spun Hermione around aggressively. “Seriously, just look at yourself.”

Hermione watched as satin twirled around her, the bottom flaring over her calves slightly before returning to its slim, fitted shape. She couldn’t deny that it flattered her; the length was perfect, elongating her despite only coming down to her mid-shin. And with her (somehow) tamed hair in the low bun, the spaghetti straps accentuated her collarbones, allowed her tanned skin to glow.

It wasn’t even the color that bothered her. She enjoyed the dark, forest green; it had caught her eye the moment she walked into the shop. How, she’ll never know. At one time she despised green. But she also despised him at one time, and that had certainly changed.

Maybe it was that. That she didn’t despise him anymore. That somehow, she was going to a nice, sit-down dinner with Draco Malfoy. Of course, they had many meals together before this, even dinners, but it felt different this time. Anxiety inducing. Like the previous two months didn’t matter, like this was the first date.

Ginny smiled at her in the mirror, placing her hands on her arms and squeezing slightly as she rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder.

“You’re just nervous,” she said gently.

Hermione scrunched her nose and lifted her hands to her face. “Why am I nervous?” she moaned through her fingers.

“It’s the first big dinner! Trust me, it’s totally normal. I felt the same way with Harry.”

Hermione dropped her hands slightly, peering at Ginny with surprise. “Really?”

Ginny stared at her, her face suddenly blank.

“Ginny?”

She let out a huff. “Okay, fine, _no_ , I didn’t.”

“Ginny!”

“But that doesn’t mean it’s not normal!” Ginny blurted desperately. She rushed in front of Hermione, taking her hands in her own. “I’m sure it is! Plus, you were bound to be nervous about it.”

Hermione felt her bottom lip protruding slightly. “I guess so,” she sighed.

“I know so,” Ginny said, raising a brow. “Making it into some big thing, as always.”

“It is a big thing!”

“Yes, but it’ll be spectacular! It’s just like all the other times you’ve eaten together, except this time you both _happen_ to be wearing better clothes. What’s the difference?”

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn’t argue with that, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

“Maybe I’ll spill wine on my dress and ruin the whole evening,” she muttered lamely.

“Make sure it’s red,” Ginny chided, tapping at Hermione’s nose once before twisting on her heel. “That will be a great example of inter-house unity.”

“We’re not in school anymore!”

“Still counts!” Ginny called over her shoulder.

Hermione scoffed. She turned back to the mirror, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders as she stared. She looked good. And it was only dinner. With better clothes, and Draco Malfoy. Draco, who could make her stomach spin and her heart flutter with the right glance her way. Any glance her way.

“Fuck me,” Hermione whispered.

“If you wait any longer, you’ll be late!” Ginny yelled, making Hermione nearly jump out of her skin. She took one last look at the mirror before spinning away, grabbing her matching clutch and her wand from the dresser.

“Okay, I’m leaving!”

“Don’t come back! Get a nice shag in afterwards!”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “You’re despicable!”

The last thing she heard was Ginny’s cackling laughter echoing through the house before she apparated away.

* * *

The venue was magnificent. On a first impression, she wasn’t sure that Draco would be caught dead in it a few years ago. It reminded her of the Gryffindor common room, with the dark, maroon walls and the golden accents highlighted down the columns and across the ceiling. The light hanging on the wall above their table flickered like fire, comforting and warm. Even the small chandelier in the center of the room sparkled with familiarity.

She knew as soon as they walked in that Draco had been here before, though. The maître d’ knew him on sight, erupting into what sounded like happy praises in Italian as they approached the reservation desk. He seemed perfectly at ease now, contrasting the space and appearing completely in his element at the same time. He never wore blue, and Hermione couldn’t figure out why. The navy suit complemented him so well, and she wanted to see him in it more.

Of course, that was her initial thought upon seeing him. Now, she was staring at him with a mix of disgust and delight. It was a strange combination, but she couldn’t help how her heart pattered against her chest as she attempted to glare at him; her face betrayed her in every way, she was sure of it. Draco pressed his lips together, his hand covering a conniving smirk. That didn’t stop how his eyes glittered against the warm tones throughout the room, though, cool and captivating and downright obstinate.

“You are…” she finally managed out.

“Am I wrong?”

“The most crass—”

“Am I wrong?” Draco repeated, his palm turning upwards.

Hermione stared at him incredulously and scoffed. “I’m not going to comment!”

“Why not?”

His frown was nearly disappointed, but his eyes still had a hard glint to them, betraying his amusement. Hermione shook her head lightly and leaned over the table, closer to him.

“That is the Minister of Magic you’re talking about,” she hissed.

Draco’s brow raised slightly, a smirk playing again at the corner of his lips. He reached for the wine bottle and began to refill his glass, his silence deafening. He was going to wait her out, wasn’t he? Hermione inhaled sharply, rolling her eyes and leaning so close that the table cut into her chest.

“You just suggested that the _Minister_ of _Magic_ needs a quick shag,” she said lowly, the muscles in her cheeks pulling into a smile (against her will, she might add) at the sheer ridiculousness of the subject, “and now you want _my_ opinion.”

“He just seems stressed,” Draco said simply, shrugging as he set the bottle down.

“Of course, he’s stressed. He’s the Minister.”

Draco leaned back slightly, tilting his chin downward as he gave her an intimidating look. “So, you agree? Shacklebolt is stressed?”

Hermione blinked, realizing what she just said. She narrowed her eyes, her mouth parting.

“You bastard,” she accused, crossing her arms against her chest and sitting back in her chair.

“What did I say?”

“You tricked me into agreeing with you.”

Draco breathed out a laugh, biting at the tip of his tongue as he adjusted his chair, sliding it closer to his end of the table. “Don’t overestimate me,” he finally said, his hands pressing against the front of his jacket and smoothing downward. He looked toward the back of the restaurant, his brows furrowing. “I couldn’t trick you if I tried, Granger. You’re too smart.”

Hermione glanced up at him, feeling her cheeks flare up. She watched as he continued to study the area. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. There were many times during their meals together where Hermione was caught off guard due to the fact. She had never thought of him as handsome, until one day he was. Her eyes trailed over his platinum hair, the strong lines of his face, down to his throat that bobbed as he swallowed once.

His eyes flicked to her, and he raised a brow. Hermione threw her gaze to the white tablecloth, her hands scratching at the material lightly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she mustered quietly.

She spared a glance to him, ignoring the subtle, triumphant adjustment to his features.

“Right,” he drawled, one end of his mouth curving upwards.

Hermione bit her lip, trying to hide the smile that threatened to upend her. Merlin, how did he make her like this? Like some excited little kid, like she couldn’t think straight anymore. She knew her face probably matched the décor of the room; red and flustered and glowing the way the lights around the walls did. She sighed and grabbed her wine glass, taking more than a meager sip and staring through the glass, admiring the way the golden accents prismed and distorted through it. The worst of it was, she enjoyed it. She wanted to hear him complain about Kingsley, how he was “so far up his arse that he could stick his head out of his mouth,” how he should find some other outlet besides making Draco’s life more difficult. She wanted him to excite her, and he never failed.

“Hey,” Draco said softly, and Hermione looked up from her glass, resting it lightly against her chest, “I have something for you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, her lips curving upward, only to freeze entirely when he placed a small, black box at the center of the table. Her smile faded entirely, the small chatter around them completely gone, replaced by the rushing of blood straight to her head.

What in the name of God was that?

“Granger.”

Hermione ripped her eyes off the black box, not even trying to hide the shock written plainly on her face. Draco was scratching lightly at his chin, staring at her intently.

“Are you going to stare at it all night, or are you going to open it?”

Was she staring at it that long? Hermione couldn’t tell. Time seemed meaningless now. She swallowed thickly and placed her wine glass carefully, and much more slowly than necessary on the table.

“Um…”

Hermione blinked rapidly, silently hoping that it was simply a mirage. But the little, black box didn’t go away. Draco was now covering his mouth entirely, and Hermione could see the creeping of anxiety on his face, even if he wouldn’t dare admit it. She lifted her chin. It could be nothing, right? It couldn’t be exactly what it was.

Hermione tentatively reached for the black box, her heart pounding. Her breath caught as she brought it closer, as she examined it. It was velvet. Black velvet. Jesus Christ, this wasn’t happening. It was too soon. What the fuck was he doing? There was a little hinge at the back. Could it be a bracelet? No, it was too small for that. Earrings? Did earrings come in boxes like this?

Hermione held her breath, and opened the box, flinching slightly as it snapped back. She stared. And she stared some more. She stared until she felt like hours had passed.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes snapped up to him. He rarely used her name, even after she started using his. His eyes were wide, betraying how nervous he was. Why the fuck was he _nervous_?

“Yes?” she squeaked.

“Do you like it?”

That wasn’t exactly what she expected. Hermione looked down at the box again. The ring was silver, gleaming and bright against the atmosphere. The small diamond in the center split into rainbows as she twisted the box. There were two pearls at either end – her favorite jewel – and even they glittered, catching pink and blue and a brilliant white.

“Um…”

“Potter said that you might,” Draco said quickly.

Hermione’s heart nearly stopped. “You…” Hermione cleared her throat, unable to take her eyes off the ring. “You asked Harry?”

It was silent at the other end of the table for a moment. “Who else would I ask?”

Hermione sucked in a breath. Of course. Who else would he ask? Her father was in Australia, and he also didn’t remember who she was. That was quite an obstacle. It would only make sense to go to her best friend of over a decade. She promptly decided that she would kill Harry when she saw him next; why on earth wouldn’t he talk Draco out of this?

“What’s the, erm…” Hermione’s mouth failed her, gaping as she expected a fish’s would. She had to ask.

“What’s the purpose?” she finally said, lowering the box to the table and looking up at him.

Draco didn’t move. He stared at her as if she had grown another head, a third eye, a limb that sprouted from her forehead.

“Well, it’s…uh…”

Draco lifted his hand, as if gesturing toward the ceiling. He frowned at the black box, avoiding her gaze. Hermione had never seen him flustered. Dear God, he was _always_ precise, put together.

“It’s customary to—” Draco cut himself off, his lips drawing into a thin line as he sat back in his chair. “Look, I don’t need a lecture on how antiquated pureblood society is. I’m perfectly aware that it is. I just…my mother raised me to – it’s customary to give something like this when a relationship is new, and when both parties have a certain investment in its future.”

Hermione’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. “A certain investment?” she choked out.

Draco waved his hands wildly in front of his chest, squinting his eyes shut entirely. “No, that’s – I mean, I didn’t mean that. It doesn’t really mean anything.”

Hermione squinted at him. She was completely baffled now. “It doesn’t mean anything?” she managed to repeat.

Draco rested his elbow on the table and rubbed at his forehead. “No, it _does_ mean something, it’s just…I don’t know, it’s just some _thing_ that people do when they like someone.”

He dropped his hand and finally looked up at her, his jaw clenched. His eyes dragged over her face, and his chest rose and fell heavily, slowly, like he couldn’t draw in enough air. “A lot,” he said quieter, as if he was admitting something. “When they like someone a lot.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, glancing down at the ring again. “So…it’s…”

“It’s just a gift,” Draco said.

A wave of relief washed over her. She couldn’t help her smile. It was just a gift. That’s all it was. She breathed out a laugh, unable to take her eyes off the ring again, but this time she was admiring it, falling love with it with every second that passed.

“I can take it back.”

Hermione looked up so fast her neck nearly snapped. “Why?”

She could tell he was gritting his teeth. He was glaring at the black box like it had done some heinous crime against him. His eyes were cold, as they always were, but stony and hard with anger. And hurt.

“You clearly don’t like it,” he said quietly.

Hermione immediately shook her head. “No, no, Draco, I—”

She looked at the ring, her fingers pressing against her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles. “It’s wonderful, really, I just…”

Hermione met his gaze, smiling widely. “It’s customary in Muggle relationships to present a ring as a proposal for marriage.”

Aside from a minute lifting of his eyebrows, Draco didn’t move. She could practically see his head spinning. He finally let out a long breath and sank into his chair, staring off into the restaurant.

“I’m going to kill Potter,” he seethed.

“Draco!”

“That arsehole has it coming.”

“What did he say?”

Draco shook his head, his bottom lip pouting out slightly. He opened his mouth, closed it, then set her with a deadly glare that she supposed was for Harry.

“He said you’d be knocked off your feet.”

Hermione closed her eyes, biting her lip hard as her chest stifled against her. They really were meant for each other, Ginny and Harry.

“I thought he meant in a _good_ way,” Draco muttered.

“It _is_ a good way,” Hermione laughed. “Just took a bit to get there.” She set the box down, peering at the ring. “Don’t take it personally. Harry basically grew up with Fred and George as brothers. He takes every opportunity he sees.”

Draco scoffed, but she felt his gaze soften, transfixed by her as she picked up the ring. She held it between her fingers, dazzled by it.

She had to try it. She had to see.

Hermione brought her left hand in front of her, splaying her fingers and slowly sliding the ring on her third finger. She couldn’t help her laugh as it remained in place, fitting perfectly.

“Wow,” she breathed out, staring at her hand. It was beautiful. It fit her. She looked up at Draco, her heart soaring at the small smile on his face. She leaned forward, taking his hand in hers.

“I love it,” she said softly.

Draco’s thumb dragged over the top of her hand, sending butterflies and lightning up her arm. “I hoped you would.”

* * *

“Which finger do they put it on, anyway?”

Hermione twisted to look up at him, frowning. He was terribly tall; her heels did her no favors. He raised a brow slightly, slowing his pace and gesturing to her hand.

“The proposal ring.”

Hermione bit her lip. God, her cheeks hurt. It should be illegal to make someone smile so much in one night. She tore her gaze off of him, staring into the darkness. They were a couple blocks off of Diagon Alley, and the sidewalk was deserted. She could see the stars twinkling brilliantly against the sky.

“The _engagement_ ring,” Hermione corrected finally, patting him on the shoulder and walking forward.

“Fine, the _engagement_ ring.”

Hermione gasped when he grabbed her hand, stopping her in her tracks and pulling her so she faced him. Her heartbeat skyrocketed as their chests grazed against each other, as his fingers intertwined with hers.

“Where does it go?” he asked quietly, his eyes following every line of her face.

Hermione shook her head, breathing out a laugh and resting her forehead against his chest. She let go of his hand and lifted her own, pointing at the ring with the other.

“This one.”

Draco tilted his head and rolled his eyes. “Of course it does.”

Hermione threw back her head, her chortles echoing through the street. After a moment, Draco joined her, their laughs infectious and bouncing off each other.

“I suppose every Muggle will think you’re to be married soon, then,” Draco struggled out.

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth and stepped toward him, even closer, naturally drawn to him. “I suppose you wanted it that way,” she challenged, lifting her brow and staring up at him through her lashes. 

Draco pressed his lips together. He closed the gap between them, and Hermione couldn’t breathe when his hand lifted her chin, angling her face toward his own. She could get lost in his eyes. They matched the ring she wore, pure silver and intoxicating.

“Perhaps I did,” he whispered, and he captured her lips with his, making her knees weak and her ears buzz like fireworks were set off. Yes, Draco Malfoy never failed to excite her, entice her. If that was a new tradition, Hermione wanted every part of it.


End file.
